An Old Friend
by starrysky7
Summary: Clara is in for quite the shock, when she runs into an old friend, who just so happens to spend his nights as the masked vigilante of Hell's Kitchen.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to its rightful owners.**

 **This is part of a series, check out my profile for the other stories.**

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 _"You realize that our mistrust of the future makes it hard to give up the past."_

 _Chuck Palahniuk_

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 **Chapter One**

A chill ran over Clara's exposed skin, the wind pricking at her neck, as she crouched, perched on the rooftop of an abandoned warehouse. Hidden in the darkness, the only source of light being the sliver of moon above her, she had free range to observe the movements of the officers surrounding the place. Dirty cops, she knew it, she could practically smell it on them. She turned her focus to the building, or more importantly, to the men inside. There were two of them, one of their mind's was foreign, a stranger, but the other wasn't, the other was very familiar, a mind she knew very well.

Two of the cops moved into the alleyway beneath her, no doubt doing the rounds of the building. Now was her opportunity.

She reached out her hand, wiggling her fingers, causing the trash cans to start shaking. The men nearly jumped out of their skins, aiming their guns at the now immobile trash cans, relaxing a bit.

"There's nothing here." One said to the other, "Probably just a rat or something."

"Yeah," the other agreed, "Let's go."

Smiling smugly to herself, she watched as the pair of them retreated back to safety. Quietly, she jumped down onto the fire escape, making her way down to the ground. She slid through the shadows, completely undetected, into the warehouse.

Stretching out her mind, she found the two men, a level below her, heading out into the tunnels.. As much as she loathed having to take the stairs, the lack of an elevator meant that the only other way would be to fall. And she hated falling even more.

"Hey." She called out, knowing that he was probably already aware of her presence, as she neared the hole in the floor where the grate had been, "Just warning you, I've almost reached you, so if your company has a weapon, tell him not to shoot me."

"Clara?" He called out, as she lowered herself down the ladder, "What are you-"

"We don't have time for questions," she said, turning the corner, eyeing the other man, "But first, I need to know who this is."

"Vladimir," Matt answered, "He's a criminal."

"Good to know"

"Where are we?" Asked Vladimir

"Access tunnels," Matt explained, "The city was built on a network of these, most of them closed up years ago."

"Alright," he announced, as they both moved to support the wounded Vladimir, "We need to keep moving, find our way to the street."

They made it around another bend, gently resting Vladimir against the wall, beside the door. And, despite Matt's attempts, it wouldn't budge.

Ordinarily, Clara would have offered her own superhuman assistance, but she strongly suspected that blowing a door off its hinges would lead the SWAT team currently searching the abandoned building, straight towards them.

"Do you trust me?" She asked

"Yes."

"There's two of them, you deal with them," she instructed, "And I'll make sure none of us get splattered with bullets."

"Alright."

Just as he agreed, the two men rounded the corner, and Clara three out her hand, pushing Vladimir back towards the opposite wall. Then, she swung both her arms towards either sides of the tunnel, sending the guns away from the men.

Watching on, Clara was sufficiently impressed by Matt's skill as he took out the, no longer armed, men. And in a non-lethal way. It was strange for her, having been taught in her training to always go for the kill, to see someone so actively avoid it. Strange indeed.

"Let's go." said Matt, stopping when he noticed a light shining on him, coming from a leftover gun that Vladimir had gotten a hold of, "There's five more coming, all working for Fisk, probably not even real cops. We don't have time for this."

"I think...maybe I stay." said Vladimir

"We can still make it outta here," said Matt, "You turn evidence on Fisk."

"He controls the police, judges," countered Vladimir, "There's only one to stop him, you know this."

"No. I'm not a killer."

"The moment you put on the mask, you got into cage with animals," said Vladimir, "Animals don't stop fighting. Not until one of them is dead."

"What Fisk did to me, he will do to you," he continued, "And he will do it to everyone you care about. Will you feel the same way then? Or will you be man, and do what you know you must do?"

"The animal who controls money, his name is Leland Owsley," Vladimir told them, "He'll give you what you think you want. But it won't be enough. You know that now, don't you. Go."

"Удачи." ( _Good luck_ ) She told him, Matt giving her a quizzical look, before she grabbed onto his arm, pulling him down the tunnel

Gun shots rang out as they made their way through the barely lit tunnel. Clara threw a look over her shoulder, hesitating for a moment. Matt did no such thing. Not even showing the slightest physical reaction. Stoic as ever.

* * *

Thankfully, Matt waited until they had returned to his apartment, to begin his questioning of her.

"Why are you here?"

"Ah, first things first, sit on the couch, take your shirt off." Clara instructed, and he reluctantly followed, "Luckily, I predicted that you'd need medical assistance, and left some supplies here."

"You broke into my apartment?" Matt asked, as she grubbed her bag from where she'd left it

"Kinda, sorry."

As far as paitents went, Matt was a pretty good one. He handled the pain well enough, his winces only minor. His expression was stoic, carefully calculated, refined. It wasn't until she was finished, that he spoke.

"How did you find me?"

"I'd been following the news, wanted to find out who the masked vigilante was." She explained, momentarily moving away to retrieve a beer from the fridge, "Knew where the major crime areas are, waited on the top of the building until something happened."

"How many nights did you spend up there?"

"A few."

"Still don't sleep much?" He asked. It was a simple question, but this was intimate knowledge, that few knew. Because, he'd experienced first hand her sleeping patterns.

"Not really."

As she sat back down, he reached out his hand, expectedly.

"You're not getting a beer, alcohol thins the blood." She reminded him, "Don't want to bleed out on your couch."

"How did you know it was me?"

"Educated guess mixed with some research." Clara shrugged, "What else have you been up to?" She asked, taking a swig of the beer, the alcohol rushing down her throat, "I mean, besides beating up bad guys on your nights off. A completely normal past time, I'm sure is shared by many."

"I'm a defence attorney," he said, "Foggy and I started up our own firm."

"You were still studying law the last time we spoke," she said, "You did always want to help the innocent, clean up the streets and what not."

"What about you?" He asked, "Fighting aliens, taking down government agencies."

"Uh, yeah," she said, tucking her hair behind her ear, "I guess there's a lot I didn't tell you about. I'm sorry, for keeping secrets, it's a habit, I'm trying very hard to break."

"I understand," he replied, "Sometimes you have to keep things from your loved ones in order to keep them safe." And Clara knew he was talking from personal experience.

"Does anyone know about this?" She said, "Your nightly escapades."

"Only one. Claire, she's a nurse, she found me in a dumpster after a fight, patched me up." He explained, "You're concerned." He remarked, causing her to raise her eyebrow, and even though she knew he couldn't see her face, she felt like he knew her reaction, "Your pulse sped up. I've only heard it do that when you're worried."

"Of course I'm concerned," she said, "You putting not only your body, but your life, on the line. What if you don't get away next time?"

"I'll be fine." He assured her, "I'm sure this is nothing compared to what you've done."

"How much do you know?" She asked, her voice lowering, "About...me?"

"I know that you fought against an alien army to save New York." he said, "And helped to stop Hydra from killing everyone."

It was the truth, but it was exactly what he thought she wanted to hear. Matt always had a habit of knowing what she wanted, and he always delivered.

"You seem very calm for a man that found out his ex-girlfriend was a spy," she said, taking another gulp of her beer, "I'm kinda hoping you freaked out at least once."

"Foggy reacted worse." He said, "I always knew there was something more to you."

"And why's that?"

"Your pulse rarely ever wavered," he said, "And I know for a fact that no one tells the truth all the time."

"When did my pulse waver?" She asked, "Besides the times I was concerned for you."

"When you left."

"You know, I broke up with you because I was called out on a mission," she said, "And when I came back a month later, you had a new girlfriend."

"I thought you weren't coming back." He told her, apologetically, "If it's any consolation, we didn't last long. She said I was still hung up someone else, I s'pose she was right."

"What's your definition of not lasting long?" She asked, "I thought you only dated girls a month or two?"

"We lasted almost a year"

"Nine months actually," Clara corrected,"Guess we were both special to each other," she said, "Still the longest relationship I've had in a far while. Flings and failed attempts at relationships dictate my love life."

"So, there's been no one else?"

"I didn't say that." She said, "There was a guy, but he was apart of my mission, and our entire relationship was based off of lies. And then I had to leave anyway."

"Why?" He asked, "Got called back home after going rogue?"

"No, I found out that Captain America was still alive," she said, "And that's the other overly complicated relationship."

"Why? Wouldn't you bond through shared life experiences?" He asked, her lips pulling into a smirk. So he did know more about her then he let on.

"Well, we were finally getting somewhere," she explained, "But finding out that my presumed dead husband/his best friend, isn't so dead, kinda put a damper on things."

"I'm sorry." He told her, unable to say anything more then give his condolences

"That's okay, I've got some major trust and commitment issues anyway." She admitted, "What about you? Something going on with the nurse?"

"Possibly," he said, "I don't know."

"I used to be a nurse." She mused, "I was an army nurse actually, during WWII."

"Do you miss it?" He asked, and she knew he was talking about more then just her previous profession

"I used to miss it a lot," she sighed, "But it was another life. A few lifetimes ago actually. The past's the past, it can't be changed and we can't go back. I starting missing it less after I accepted that."

"I know what that's like."

"So, what's the big picture here?" She asked, "Who's this Fisk guy?"

"He's running a criminal operation," said Matt, "He's got most of the police force on his payroll."

"Corrupt government employees," she said, "Never the nicest to deal with, always make things difficult."

"Very."

"What are you planning to do?" She asked, "Take Fisk out of play?"

"Cut off the head of the snake and the body flounders."

"And how do you know two more won't grow back in his place?"

"So you're saying I shouldn't even bother?"

"No, I'm asking if you know what you're signing up for," she said, "Fisk is one piece of a much larger problem. And to be honest, getting him locked up, whilst obviously a good thing, could potentially cause a lot of trouble."

"How so?"

"The King falls, and everyone scrambles to claim the throne," she said, "That's what you're signing up for. The problem won't end with Fisk."

"Never thought it would."

"What will you do? If you refuse to kill him," she said, "And if he truly is as powerful as you say, how are you gonna take him down?"

"I'll find a way." He said, "There must be something I can use to bring him down."

"I'll see if I can find anything."

"I can't ask that of you."

"You're not asking, I'm offering." She said, "I want to do everything I can to prevent it coming down to you being forced to kill him."

"What, do you want to save my soul?" He asked, "I thought you weren't religious."

"I'm not," she agreed, "But take it from me. Religion aside, killing isn't easy, and the guilt it causes is not something I would wish on anyone, especially not someone I care about."

"Why did you come into the building?" He asked, "You could've been hurt. I could never live with myself if you got hurt because of me."

"Trust me, I can definitely hold my own." She chuckled, "Besides, I doubt Fisk could take on the Avengers if something did happen to me. You don't have to worry about me, I didn't get to ninety four by being careless."

"You haven't aged a bit."

"And how would you know?"

"May I?" He asked, reaching out his hand

"Of course." She replied, taking his hand, guiding it to her cheek

His fingers slid over her skin, her cheek, her forehead, her nose, her lips.

"You still look the same," he told her, his other hand moving to her hair, "Your hairs shorter, did you cut it?"

"Thought I needed a change, adapt to new situations, and all that."

"Did it help?"

"No, but it was worth a shot."

Matt smirked at her, and she chuckled along with him. Shrugging off trauma was a specialty of hers. Sensing her discomfort, he cleared his throat, before speaking up.

"Where are you staying?"

"Why? You offering?" She teased, her lips pulling into a cheeky grin

"I don't think you'd enjoy sleeping on my couch," he reied, "The glowing sign might annoy you."

"Probably. But I've slept in worse conditions."

Silence passed over them, and the weight of the situation, that she'd been pushing back against, finally collapsed on her.

Because she was sitting on a couch drinking a beer with Matt Murdock. With the man, who despite the brevity of their relationship, she'd been madly in love with.

When they were together, they were just two normal people, in a normal relationship, with normal lived. Not weighed down with baggage. With anger and grief. With the reality of their circumstances.

Not like they were now.

"Do you want to see it?" Clara asked, sharply snapping both the silence, and the tension, that had filled the room

"See what?"

"The sign." She said, "Or, anything else for that matter. Anything at all."

"How?" He asked, his voice raising slightly

"Just, trust me." Clara whispered, "Okay. I'm not going to hurt you."

After some deliberation, Matt opened his mouth, "The sky." He told her, "That's what I want to see."

"Okay."

Leaning forward, she softly placed her hands on his cheeks, her fingers brushing his skin. It was a familiar feeling, but an old one, like a book you loved and start re-reading a few years later. Everything's the same, but different.

It took a few moments for her to decide on the memory to show him. But she found it, the perfect one.

"Matt, you have to open up your mind, okay, let me in," she instructed, her voice soothing, "Don't fight against it. Alright?"

"Alright."

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 **I had some technical difficulties uploading the full chapter, so the rest of this chapter is in the next.**

 **I've added a new chapter to A Series of Occurences that is Clara/Matt, and I've also added Matt to the poll.**


	2. Chapter 1 Part 2

**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to its rightful owners.**

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 **Chapter One - Part Two**

Taking a deep breath, closing her eyes, she reached out her mind, and stretched it into his. Her thumbs brushed against his cheeks, calming him, his mind, allowing her in. She refrained from looking to far, seeing something which he did not wish for her to see. It was a strange feeling, to be inside someone else's head, and she knew, even if she did it regularly, she would never grow accustomed to it.

Control was needed. She had to be in full control over her own mind, so as to not pour herself into his. Her memories, her emotions. There was definitely such a thing as oversharing when it came to mental connections. She'd overshared before, with deadly consequences.

Keeping the memory at the front of her mind, slowly, she began to pour it into his. It was like a movie playing on a screen in his head. It wasn't the same as sight. But it was the best she could offer him.

The image was a simple one. From the back porch of her childhood home, she watched, as the golden sun set in the east. The sky, a mirage of reds, and orange, with dashes of pinks and purples here and there. It was a warm summer evening, and she had stayed out there until dark, too content to move. She remembered, only returning inside when her mother had called for dinner.

Opening her eyes, her vision was blotted by the tears that were silently streaming down her face. She hadn't even realised she was crying.

"Was that your memory?"

"Yes, I was a child." She replied, softly, "I don't know how old I was. It was a pretty long time ago. Might not even be real."

Matt moved his hands up to her cheek, wiping away the wetness, and she leant her forehead against his. They both knew what it was to lose a loved one. They knew what it was like to be alone. A degree of nderstanding passed between them. An understanding that was far more intimate then her usual empathy towards the situation of others.

"Matt." She whispered, her voice quivering

"Yes."

"I don't want to be sad anymore." Clara told him, "I want to feel safe again. I want to go home."

"Where's home?"

"I don't know." She admitted, leaning closer, if that was even possible, her lips waivering over his, "But here feels pretty close."

"We shouldn't." He warned, but made no effort to move away, and Clara felt like that was the only thing she ever heard nowadays. Rejection was a familiarity.

"I know. But I don't care." She said, with an air of conviction that was contradictory to her demeanor, "I don't care about doing what's right, not now."

And she didn't. She wasn't in the sacrificing mood. Selfishness looked pretty good to her at the present time. Taking what she wanted with no remorse. Though, she was sure guilt would follow. But that was an issue for a later time. She was living in the moment, for once.

Clara was the first to move, the kiss was slow and gentle, at first. But as soon as he began to reciprocate, it was like she was starved of oxygen, and his kiss was the air. As cliche as that might sound. It was the most affection she'd received in a long time, not including familial affection. Asides from the kiss she'd shared with Steve, the last person she kissed, that she had actually hoped to have a future with, was Matt. And five years didn't make that much of a difference. It was like they were right back there. Making out in his dorm room, with Clara feeling as old as she actually looked. That was a good time in her life.

Pulling away, she rose from the lounge, clutching onto his hand. Steering him towards the bed, although it wasn't really necessary seeing as he could make his way around his apartment without difficulty.

"Wait." She muttered, moving towards his bedside table, removing the hostle containing her gun, and the two concealed knives. Placing them down, she turned back to Matt, who said nothing, because he knew she didn't want him to ask any questions about her boderline paranoia.

Soon enough, clothing was removed, albeit slowly, until eventually it was skin on skin. Matt was gentle, with his kisses and touches. And, although it had been years, he remembered every cavice of her skin, having memorized every inch of her during those long illicit nights together.

Once it was over, Matt slipped from the bed, slinking into the bathroom. As she heard the water began to run, Clara sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest. Silk. She'd always liked his silk sheets.

The apartment was bare, she supposed a blind man had no need for interior decor. But it had the essentials, and that was all Matt needed.

Clara hated it. It felt impersonal, lacking that homely feeling she admired. It reminded her of a safe house. Fulfilling it's purpose, but never exceeding beyond that. That was why the first thing she did whenever she moved to a new place was decorate it. Splurging on furniture, and decor, hanging up framed pictures. She wanted her places to look lived in, even if they weren't. It was a comfort she could not deny herself.

Reaching down, she grabbed articles of clothing from the ground, pulling them on, the bottom hers, the top his. It smelt like him too, and her insides warmed with that old familiarity.

But as much as she tried to convince herself that things were the same, they weren't. And she couldn't deny that she'd probably made a huge mistake. Reason told her that she was being stupid, and frivolous, and careless. Nothing could happen with Matt. She had her not-so-dead husband to consider. Not to mention a shit ton of baggage. Matt deserved better then that. Better then what she could give him.

"You okay?"

Snapping her head up, having not even realised he had returned to the room, she looked at him. Her eyes scanned his bare chest, and she frowned, finally taking in the full sight of his scarred skin.

"I'm fine." She muttered, lifting her knees up, to wrap her arms around, "You've sure got a lot of scars."

"Still none as impressive as yours." He remarked, and the corner of her mother quirked up in a weak attempt at a grin. Lifting her hand, she absentmindedly brushed her fingers against her shirt, where her bullet scar lay beneath it. "Was what you told me the truth? About how you got it."

"No." She bluntly told him, "When I was a nurse, in World War Two, I was shot. Non-fatal, I was completely fine. Got sent home. Well, I didn't actually go home. I stayed in London until..."

"Until?" He coaxed, in a gentle and caring manner

"Until Bucky died. I came home then." Clara said, her voice surpringsly not shaky at all. It was almost monotone, in a nonchalant sort of way, "It was a bit of a point of contention really. You see, my family wanted me to come back to Westchester, but I wanted to stay in Brooklyn. Continue that link to Bucky, or whatever. And he wasn't even dead."

"Is it bad, that a part of me wished that he had died?" She asked, her voice finally breaking, "Then he wouldn't, have gone through what he did. What Hydra did to him."

"It's not bad to want others to be at peace."

"Is it bad that a part of me wanted him to be dead, for selfish reasons?" She replied, "Things, were. I had hope, for better, before I found out. And now. My life has imploded. And I don't know what to do, or what I want. Maybe I never did."

"Do you still want to help others?" He asked, "You once told me that was all you ever wanted."

"Yes."

"Then, you know what you want," he pointed out, "And you know what to do."

"I don't know what I want for myself." Clara clarified, "What if helping others isn't enough? What if I want more? I don't know what, but, I just feel so unsatisfied. So empty. But I don't know what I'm missing."

"You'll find it." Matt promised her, in such a sure tone she was almost convinced, "And you'll be okay."

"Thanks, Matt." She said, wistfully, "We should probably sleep. I bet you're exhausted."

"Do you think you're that good?" He teased, smirking at her

"You know I meant the fight." She corrected, laying down, "Now shut up and sleep."

Obeying the instruction, Matt laid down, and she curled up beside him. With her head on his chest, she was killed to sleep by the sound of his beating heart. And it was a wonderful sleep. Full of dreams of sunsets, and childhood. Devoid of death and blood, of loss and grief. It was a rarity, and it was truly glorious.

* * *

Sun shone through the windows as Clara awakened, slipping herself out of the mess of their tangled limbs, she slid from the bed and silently moved into the bathroom. The light made the apartment seem even barer.

Staring up into the mirror, she was surprised by the person looking back at her. No longer were her eyes underlined with purple bags from lack of sleep. Of course, that was not to say she looked to be the picture of health. Nor had she previously looked like death itself. More like somewhere in between, slightly more inclined towards death, but still alive of course. No matter what happened, she always kept on living on, she didn't know any other way.

"Clara." Matt called out, and she tore her eyes away from her reflection,

"I'm just in the bathroom."

"Okay."

Now that her reflection was over, she conducted her business in the bathroom without anymore introspective episodes.

"I thought you might have snuck out." Said Matt, as she closed the bathroom door behind her, "I was hoping you hadn't."

"It's not really my style." She replied, "I prefer to make my one-night stands buy me breakfasts. Because, I've just had so many, one-night stands."

Chuckling away, Matt moved into the kitchen. Clara trailed along behind, grabbing the now warm half full beer bottle from last night. Gathering bottles of alcohol was a familiar chore to her. A recent development.

"Would you like some toast?" He asked, "Buttered on both sides?"

"You remember how I take my toast?"

"And your coffee." He replied, "Milk, one sugar."

"Well, aren't you a perceptive one." She teased, "For a blind man."

"That's always been my best talent."

"And here I thought it was your charm," she countered, "It's what makes you such a good lawyer."

"How do you know if I'm any good?"

"I like to keep tabs on the people I care about."

It probably seemed very stalkerish, and Clara was whole fully aware of it. But she'd needed to know how Matt's life turned out. Was he successful? Did he do all the things he wanted? Was he happy? Was he loved?

It was very important to her that he had a good life, that he didn't suffer. Because he already had, and he deserved so much more then that. Unfortunately, his choice of hobbies made that a difficult aim to attain.

"Did my pulse really never waiver?" She suddenly asked, "Not even once?"

"Not that I can recall."

"Not even when I told Foggy that his horrid goatee looked good?"

"No, surpringsly."

"Oh, well," she sighed, "Guess I must be a really good liar."

She was conflicted about how that should make her feel. Should she be proud that all her training had paid off? Or should she be horrified that lying had become second nature to her?

She had an inclining that the latter was closer to her current emotional state.

"I'm sorry, about leaving," she told him, looking down at the plate of toast he had taken great care in preparing for her, "About, how, I left. You deserved better then that."

"Hey, it's okay - "

"No, Matt, it's not." She affirmed, "You deserve an explanation."

"You don't have to."

"I do." She said firmly, sucking in a deep breath, before continuing, "I, was kind of out, when we met. Out of SHIELD, that is. But, Fury asked for a favour. So, like the, _good friend_ , I am, I relented."

"So, it's not your fault." He attempted to reassure her, a genuine attempt, but no less futile

"It is. I didn't have to. There were others who could have taken it." She explained, "I, shouldn't have gone. It wasn't a favour, it was, Fury, pulling me back in, for his own plans. I should have known."

"You couldn't know." He said, softly, reaching out to place his hand on hers, "And I should've, fought more. It's not your fault."

Staring up at him, she was reminded just how much she'd always loved his eyes. Big and brown. Innocent. But, sometimes, she could see all of his pain, and anger, reflected in them, even if he couldn't technically see. But, she supposed, everyone was like that. You could lie with your mouth, but your eyes were always far more honest.

"It is. But, thanks, for the reassurance. It means a lot to me."

As they ate their breakfast, they fell into interludes of humorous small talk, and comfortable silence. It was normal, and nice, and fun. For once, she didn't have to worry about her next mission, or some global threat. She wasn't an Avenger, or a SHIELD agent. He wasn't a masked vigilante. She was Clara, and he was Matt. And she enjoyed that simplicity.

"I'm guessing you have to get to work." She signed, sliding off the chair, "I mean, unless Foggy's totally okay with you just giving yourself a day off. I probably do that if I was my own boss. I mean, if I wasn't a bit of a workaholic."

"Yeah, I, probably should."

"And I, should probably go as well." She said, averting her eyes to the ground

"You, could come, with me." He offered, his face brightening, as his lips pulled into a hopeful smile, "Foggy, would love to see you. And, I'm sure Karen, would love to meet you. I mean, if you want."

"I, I," she stammered, knowing that she wanted to go, but it wasn't the smart thing. And she'd listened to her heart over her head enough that day, "No, I should, go. It'd be, complicated, and, it's just easier."

Matt's face fell a little, the smile dropping away, "Ah, yeah, of course."

"But, I'll be back." She assured him, "I'll see you soon. And with information on Fisk."

"Okay."

Awkwardness passed over them, with neither of them knowing quite what to do next. How do you say goodbye to the ex that you just slept with? Do you kiss? Do you Huh? Do you shake hands and say thanks for the roll in the sheets, we should do it another time?

Clara, decided, that the last option was probably the most inappropriate, but entertaining none the less.

So, she settled on wrapping her arms around his middle, burying her face in his shirt. Breathing him in, she was reminded about how familiar this all felt. And, how it was only fleeting.

Matt quickly responded, enveloping her in his arms, gently caressing her head. It was soothing, and for a second, she considered staying. But she couldn't. It wasn't the logical thing to do. And reason had always been her best friend.

"Do me a favour." She told him, pulling back, "Get some sleep. You look like shit."

"Thanks." He chuckled, releasing her from the hug

As they both dressed, Clara averted her eyes, not out of a sense of privacy, that had gone out the window the previous night, but to stop her imagination from running wild. But it didn't. She kept dreaming up the possibilities. She could stay, here, with him. Not go back to her life, to her problems. Just, ignore them all. _Wouldn't that be_ _nice_ , she thought to herself, _wouldn't that be freeing_.

"It was, good, seeing you." She spoke, straightening up, now fully clothed, her weapons hidden away, the bag of medical supplies in her hand, "It really was."

"It was good seeing you too."

* * *

 **I really hope you all liked it, I took a chance with adding this story, and I hope it pays off.**

 **Please, review and tell me what you think, I love to hear your opinions.**


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